


no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

by queenofthewolves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22329388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthewolves/pseuds/queenofthewolves
Summary: When the truth of Jon's parentage reaches King's Landing, House Stark must find allies from an unlikely place and scramble to strengthen the North through an arranged marriage.Two Starks find themselves unexpectedly married and three new Starks find themselves meeting their father for the first time in their lives thanks to a brewing war.[I'm bad at summaries but give me some time to write some more and I'll make it better I promise.]
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 44
Kudos: 154





	1. The gods speak

The wind blew violently through her raven curls, the night illuminated by torches and bonfires. She looked up to the stars, looking in vain for the moon. It wouldn’t be back until the next night.

“Ingrid.”

She didn’t bother turning. The man made came to a stop next to her and looked out to the water in front of them.

“The gods are sending warnings,” she murmured, turning to look at the face of the man, so much like her own. “Have you been listening?”

Bow-shaped lips upturned in a small, bitter smile. “I don’t think I had much choice in that.”

Ingrid turned her gaze towards the water as well, eyes vacant as she recalled times past. “We always have a choice, Jon. The gods always give us a choice. Remember that.”

Jon turned fully, looking straight into the side of her face. “Ragnar made his choices. It’s been years since he made them, we must move on. You must move on.”

Ingrid pursed her lips, also turning her body to face his. 

She brought her hands to grasp at his face, looking him in the eyes, and murmured in a wobbly, serious voice, “Ambition is good. But be careful it doesn’t turn to greed. It will poison your heart and your soul. Promise me you won’t forget the difference between ambition and greed. Promise me you won’t go down the same path Ragnar chose.”

Jon’s eyes softened. He grabbed Ingrid’s hands, gently bringing them down and holding them in his own. “I promise to never forget what you’ve told me. But I can’t promise what you want me to. I do not know how my future will shape me and my decisions. But I do know that I will try to be a good man.”

Ingrid smiled, moving towards him, burying her nose into his neck and circling her arms around his waist.

Jon’s arms had just settled around her when they stiffened up at her words.

“You have to go home.”

His eyes watered, but he stayed stoic. “I am home.”

Ingrid pulled away with a soft smile, hands planting themselves on his shoulders.

“If you have to deny a part of yourself, you’re not truly home.”

Jon looked back towards the open sea, towards the west.

“You’ve flourished and found a home here, but Winterfell will always be your first home. And it’s time to return to the seat of House Stark.”


	2. An unladylike attraction

Jon Snow stared at his full tankard of ale from his spot in the back of the Great Hall. A spot he was so familiar with, it was one of the first, if not _the_ first, memories he has.

The Starks were entertaining Lord Karstark and his sons and daughter. The old man was in no way subtle on his wishes of a betrothal between his daughter and Robb or Sansa and one of his sons. His comments weren’t going over well with Lord Stark, while Lady Stark’s face conveyed her lack of impression with the Karstarks. Then again, Lady Stark may dress the part of a Northern lady, but she has always been a Southern lady. If the way she raised her kids wasn’t proof enough, there was the Southern contempt of bastards that she held over Jon himself.

Remembering the look of contempt and utter disappointment when he arrived at Winterfell a mere year ago, he downed his ale and left to go outside. But not before grabbing the nearest mug of ale he could find.

He chucked his empty mug outside the entrance to the godswood. Though he had drank quite the amount of ale, he was sober enough to walk steadily and be conscious of what he was doing. But, it did feel like a longer walk to the Heart Tree than when he was sober.

When he finally did reach it, clarity overwhelmed his senses. He finally felt the bite of the cold night against his face, heard faint whispers in the rustling of the branches. Carefully, he kneeled at the base of the tree, extending his hand to rest on the bark and bending his head.

And then he prayed.

✦ — ✦ — ✧ — ✦ — ✦

Sansa Stark dreamed of the south.

She dreamed of silks and the sun, knights and tourneys, a golden prince who would take her away from the North, bring her south and crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty and announce their betrothal at the feast that followed.

And with her father’s great friendship with the King, it was almost a certainty that she would end up betrothed to the Crown Prince Joffrey. But for now, she had to make do with the men of the North. Which is how she found herself in the company of Harrion Karstark despite the age gap.

“Who is that?”

Sansa was brought to a sudden stop when they neared the Heart Tree. Looking up, she clutched at Harrion’s arm once she saw the dark figure he was referring to. But, when the figure lifted his head and she saw his face more clearly, she relaxed her body and hold.

“It’s just Jon,” she smiled up at him.

“Jon Snow? Your bastard brother?” Harrion asked, still looking at the figure, who had now taken out a dagger. “What is he doing with the blade?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Jon slashed his palm open causing Sansa to let out a small shriek, alerting him to their presence.

Whipping his head quickly in their direction, Sansa blushed a bright red in embarrassment and clutched at Harrion’s arm again, only this time, she shied into his side and away from Jon’s intense gaze.

“What are you doing Snow?” Harrion asked, tone a little more smug than usual due to Sansa’s presence.

Jon merely ignored them and finished his prayers, folding his hand into a fist and letting his blood drop on the roots of the weirwood. Once a good amount of blood had been spilled in sacrifice for the gods, he stood up, brushing off his knees.

“I asked you a question bastard,” Harrion said, arrogance seeping off him in waves at being so blatantly ignored by someone of a lower station, no matter who his father was, in front of a lady. He moved towards Jon, almost dragging Sansa along with him, who had stayed silent.

“I heard you,” Jon said. He faced them head on, scrutinizing how Harrion seemed to have a tight hold on Sansa, who couldn’t meet his eyes. “I could ask you the same.”

Blood rushed to Harrion’s face and he gripped Sansa’s hand tighter, causing said girl to wince in pain.

“And just what are you suggesting?” he spat. “I am a Lord! I am heir to House Karstark. And you’re nothing but a bastard destined for the Wall.”

A ghost of a smirk graced Jon’s lips before it disappeared.

“At least,” Harrion continued, feeling the need to when Jon stayed quiet, “I know how to respect the gods. Who would be disrespectful enough to spill blood on their sacred grounds?”

“Only the most disrespectful of southerners I imagine,” Jon quipped.

“Yes,” Harrion immediately replies, mouth opening to continue before he registers Jon's words and gets even angrier. “How dare you—”

“Let go of Sansa,” Jon interrupts, fists clenching at his sides in anger at the redhead’s winces.

Harrion, finally realizing his strong hold on Sansa, lets go in embarrassment stammering out apologies that swiftly get cut off when Jon pulls Sansa behind him quicker than a blink of the eye. His anger quickly flares up again.

Sansa, seeing Harrion’s anger and Jon’s tensed figure quickly stepped up next to her half-brother and sweetly told Harrion, “It’s getting late. I really should be returning to my chambers. I very much enjoyed our walk. Mayhaps we can go on another walk tomorrow. That is, if you’re still up for it?”

Harrion, still very much angry and looking at Jon, nodded. He turned to Sansa, face cooling in color and a charming smile sliding onto place as he grabbed her hand a brushed a kiss upon the back of it.

“I’d be most honored my lady,” he answered. He quickly left, but not before throwing Jon one more angry glare.

Silence quickly consumed Jon and Sansa, but Jon quickly left it, steps no longer unsteady with drink. Sansa was quick to follow, a step behind him.

She desperately wanted to say something, but she found herself oddly nervous to speak to her half-brother. Perhaps it was because she finally saw him as a man in his own right. But that couldn’t be it because feelings like those were shameful. Jon Snow was her brother, even if he was only half.

“You should really be careful about being unchaperoned with a man who has had drinks in him.”

Sansa didn’t have the time to register Jon’s words before he was leaving her in front of her room and marching off towards his. But, when she did gain her senses, her anger flared up and she didn’t hesitate to follow him back to his room.

Unfortunately, she was so blinded by her anger she just barged in without knocking.

“How dare you—” She abruptly cut herself off guard once she caught sight of a half naked Jon.

Her fair skin flushed a deep red as she stared in awe at Jon’s muscled torso. She was caught off guard by the swirling tattoo on his back, along with some faded tiny scars that she could only make out because he was crouched before the fire. And when he turned just as quick at her entrance, she saw more scars and a toned and muscled front.

“Sansa!” Jon shouted, face also flushing a light pink as he scrambled to put on his discarded shirt. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she squeaked, quickly turning around and fleeing back to her chambers, leaving his door wide open.

✦ — ✦ — ✧ — ✦ — ✦

Sansa was noticeably quiet the next morning, still embarrassed by catching Jon undressed and by how attractive she found him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t enjoy a quiet morning like she planned when her family kept bringing up the fact that she was being quiet.

“Are you sure everything is alright, sweetling?” Catelyn Stark asked her daughter once more. She was worried for her daughter since it was uncommon for Sansa to be completely quiet in the morning, especially the morning after a feast.

“Yes, mother,” Sansa replied, feeling the slightest twinge of annoyance at her mother. She loved her, Sansa really did, but honestly, she was tired of being the perfect lady all the time. And besides, it wasn’t like she wasn’t being a lady at the moment. She was just being quiet!

"Where's Jon?” Arya asked Robb as he came in.

Sansa jumped at hearing his name and quickly whipped around to see if maybe Jon Snow was lagging behind her— _their_ —brother, as he was wont to do. He wasn’t. But before she could mask her pink cheeks and relieved, yet disappointed face, she caught her mother's eye, looking suspicious and unhappy at the reminder of the one stain of dishonor on her marriage.

Sansa quickly went back to eating her breakfast quietly as she listened to her siblings discuss how Jon was often in the godswood since he came back.

“Didn't you go on a walk with Lord Harrion to the godswood Sansa?” her mother asked, gaze steady and determined.

“Yes, mother,” Sansa demurred, briefly looking up from her plate.

“You didn’t happen upon the bastard there did you?” Her lips curled in an ugly manner when she mentioned Jon. Sansa bristled but could not answer as her mother continued. “He didn’t do anything untoward to you did he? Is that why you are so quiet this morning?”

“Catelyn,” her father reprimanded. But that was all he did. Just like her siblings who were also casting disappointed looks towards her mother and biting their tongues so as not to start an argument so early in the day.

This rankled at Sansa, who stood up in indignation with a fierce glare directed at her mother.

“No!” she stated forcefully. “ _Jon_ was anything but untoward. In fact! It was _Lord_ Harrion who was acting untoward and _Jon_ who got me out of that situation and escorted me safely to my room!”

She didn’t realize the deliberate emphasis she put on Jon’s name and Harrion’s title until she looked around the table. Her father and siblings were staring at her shock, for never once had Sansa come to Jon’s defense, and never did they imagine the fierceness with which she did.

Her mother on the other hand looked appalled at her behavior, before it turned to anger that was no doubt directed at Jon Snow.

“Sansa,” her mother started, but she didn’t get a chance to say anymore because the door to the private chamber just off the Great Hall they were eating in was opened and Winterfell’s steward, Vayon Poole, came inside.

“Pardon me, my Lord, my Lady,” he bowed. “Lord Karstark and his children will be departing shortly.”

Sansa took that as her cue to leave, which she quickly did. She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t even realize she had made her way into the godswood until she saw the crying face of the heart tree.

She didn’t pray to her father’s gods anymore. She prayed to her mother’s gods, but she didn’t feel the same feeling of depth with the Seven that she did with the Old Gods. So, wishing to reacquaint herself with that comforting feeling, she knelt in front of the face and prayed.

But her prayers didn’t last long before a faint voice singing a hauntingly beautiful song in a foreign tongue carried through the wind and reached her ears. She opened her eyes, vaguely registering that she was kneeled where Jon was last night but there didn’t appear to be blood stains on the pure white bark of the Heart Tree’s roots, and felt obliged to find the source.

The closer she got to the voice, the deeper she went, the more she recognized the voice and the less she recognized where exactly in the godswood she was. By the time she made it to a small clearing hidden behind a thick grove of trees, she knew she would find Jon Snow.

And sure enough, there he was, just barely able to stretch out completely in the circle, singing softly while pulling at the grass underneath him.

She had arrived at the end of the song and didn’t think before gently clapping, forgetting that she had not made her presence known. So it was with flushed cheeks and a sheepish face that she came face to face with Jon, who had sat up quicker than she though possible, hand already with a dagger before he realized there was no immediate threat.

“I apologize,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

“Yes well,” Jon sighed, sheathing his blade, “you seem to be doing that a lot recently.”

Alluding to last night’s events had Sansa blushing furiously once more, but indignation quickly rose up when she remembered just why she had followed after him.

“Well if you hadn’t been so rude, I wouldn’t have followed you, she sniffed, sitting herself at the base of the tree she was near. After rearranging her skirts, she lifted her eyes to see Jon’s disbelieving look, and before he could talk, she continued. “Well, you were being rude! You didn’t have to egg Lord Harrion on like that. Besides, how dare you assume I would do anything of me just because I was unchaperoned?”

Jon nodded and leaned back into his hands, legs still happily outstretched in front of him.

“Alright,” he admitted, “I’ll confess to egging him a little. But you took my words out of context. I meant that you shouldn’t be unchaperoned because men feel entitled enough to take from women without drink. And _Lord Harrion_ ”—he mocked—“was certainly in his cups. But I’ll apologize for my words and admit to being wrong if you show me your arms and there are no signs of bruises on your person.”

Sansa looked down, ashamed because she did in fact have some bruises from Harrion’s hold last night. When Jon saw tears quickly gathering in Sansa’s eyes, he quickly moved to her side, bringing her into his side.

“Hey now,” he cooed, tilting her head up to stare into her eyes. “No crying. You did nothing wrong. I was merely being overprotective and went about it the wrong way.”

Sansa nodded and buried her face into his chest, willing her tears away as he caressed her hair gently. It took a moment before she regained her composure and sat back and away from Jon.

She cleared her throat and changed the topic by asking after the song and language.

“Oh,” Jon sighed, leaning back on the tree Sansa was sat at the base of. “Just a little tune I caught on to.”

She hesitated on asking her next question, but ultimately, her curiosity won out.

“Did you learn it during the time you were gone?”

Jon stiffened up, his peaceful disposition no longer available as his defenses came back up. He stood up, brushing off any clinging dirt and offered his hand.

“Your mother must be wondering where you’re at.”

Sansa managed to hide her annoyance with her mother from Jon because he refused to look directly at her. But he was quick to look into her eyes when she took his hand and felt traitorous butterflies in her stomach.

Her hand only felt the warmth of his for a fleeting second as he pulled her up from the ground swiftly. But she was left feeling a little cold as she watched his back retreat the way she came from.

Again, their trek through the godswood was silent, but this time, the silence was broken when they encountered the rest of the family in the courtyard, all staring at a rider and a scroll Ned clutched tightly in his hands, disbelief and confusion written plainly on their faces. When they saw the two approach, they immediately zeroed in on Jon.

Jon didn't react to their looks, merely stared at Lord Stark, who refused to meet his eye. But when he did, he spoke directly to Jon.

“The king rides North to meet with you.”

Jon’s voice was as steady as his gaze. “And what does Robert Baratheon want with me?”

Eddard Stark swallowed, picking up on the lack of title Jon used, a sinking feeling in his stomach telling him that Jon knew the truth.

“He wants to discuss your parentage and what is to be done with you.”

Jon nodded. The sudden huff of a laugh startling the young Starks, but not as much as the look of contempt he leveled at the Lord of Winterfell.

“Should I prepare myself for my death at the hands of your wretched beast of a friend? Or should I fall to my knees and beg you for the chance of a wasted existence at the wall as a brother of the Night’s Watch? To forfeit my birthright? A birthright you never even meant to tell me about at all, if your hand had not been forced!”

Ned had tears in his eyes but he was firm when he said, “Jon that is enough.”

“No,” Jon denied. “It’s not. Tell me, did you ever really see me as your blood? Or did you only see the son of the enemy, a babe you were honor bound to let live because you swore an oath? Did you ever really see me as a person? Or was I always just the bastard dragon son of Rhaegar Targaryen?”

At that last question, chaos descended upon the Starks of Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the support! 🥰💖
> 
> it means a lot :)


	3. 2. The aftermath of a revelation

It had been three days since the truth had come out and Jon had barely been seen.

Granted, the Starks were cooped up in Ned’s solar two of those three days, but they searched for him all day the day before. No such luck however. Not even Arya was able to find him.

Everybody was concerned, except for Lady Stark, who had taken to spending the entire day in the Sept. This left Sansa the acting Lady of Winterfell. Somehow, she thought she’d be more overwhelmed with her newfound duties, but really she just found herself being frustrated with the lack of seriousness she was treated with.

It was this frustration that led her to saddle her horse, a grey mare she hadn’t rode in years. Not properly anyways.

It took her longer than she wanted to admit to saddle her horse, and then to get on without assistance. But once she was on, she didn’t waste a moment more in charging out, thanking the old gods that the gate was open since the group of men who went out on a hunt earlier were due to return.

She had her hood pulled up so her hair was covered and was wearing breeches and a tunic she stole from Jon’s room. She would have gotten it from Robb but he would have insisted on coming, and she just wanted to be alone. And since Jon’s room was empty, she went ahead and took some of his. But once in his room, she noticed that some of his clothes needed mending, while most were mended in quite a rough manner. She took the opportunity of already being in Jon’s room to mend his clothes, making a mental note to remend the clothes that were already mended, properly.

Slowing down her horse to a slow trot, she lowered her hood and looked at the scenery around her. She had never really been in the wolfswood, not like the rest of her siblings.

It was while she was looking at the scenery, finally admiring the North and not detesting it in favor of the South she imagined, that she heard splashing. While her initial reaction was fear, her curiosity soon overwhelmed her and she dismounted, tying her horse’s leash on the nearest tree.

Walking towards the noise, Sansa took careful steps to make as little noise as possible. The noise took her to one of the many hot springs the North had, which was nestled behind a formation of boulders that turned out to be a cave once she walked around it towards the spring.

She let out a small shriek when she saw a familiar nude back.

“Sansa!” Jon yelled, submerging all of his body save his head, hunching into himself.

Sansa quickly turned around squealing her apologies as she heard Jon get out of the water. The rustle of clothes being put on quickly and on wet skin made her think of what little of Jon’s body she had seen. By the time Jon told her he was decent, her face was aflame and she wasted no time in devouring the sight of him, not recognizing the pang of disappointment at his fully clothed state for what it was.

“Should I be worried?” Jon asked her, bunching his hair to the squeeze excess water out.

Distracted by his curls, which she so desperately wanted to touch, Sansa distractedly murmured, “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ , that this is the second time you’ve come upon me while I’ve been indecent,” he pointed out. “Should I be worried that you're purposely searching me out to see me fully nude?”

She didn’t think she had ever blushed as hard she did in that moment.

She stuttered out nonsense before deciding to preserve whatever dignity she had left and changed the subject.

“Have you been living out here these past few days?”

Jon hummed, but did not answer. He made his way inside the cave, Sansa following after him. Inside the cave, she saw a sleeping roll and a simple fur and pillow near a fire pit with animal remains next to it. She crinkled her nose in disgust at the skins and bones.

“I’m waiting,” Jon finally answered.

“For what?” Sansa quickly responded. Then, remembering the last words he spoke before he disappeared, quietly asked, “Your death?”

He laughed. It was a hollow sound, nothing like the laughs she had heard when he was with Arya and Robb that were so full of life.

“Father won’t let King Robert kill you,” Sansa said, taking his laughter as confirmation of her question. “He wouldn’t. You’re family. He loves you.”

“I’m sure he does,” Jon nodded. “But history has shown Ned Stark’s love for his family means little in comparison to his love for that whoremongering, pathetic excuse of a king.”

Sansa was caught off guard at his words.

“You speak treason,” she whispered taking a seat on his bed roll.

Jon took a seat a foot away from her, staring intently into her Tully blue eyes.

“I have a stronger claim to that monstrous throne than any Baratheon or Lannister.”

There was silence between them for the longest time. Again, Sansa was the one to break it.

“Please come home. Hear father out and if you still want to leave, I’ll help you.”

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Sansa didn’t realize how far into the woods she had rode into until Jon and her had to share her mare as they made their way back towards Winterfell.

“I can’t help but notice you’re wearing my clothes.”

Jon’s sudden observation startled Sansa into grabbing onto his waist tighter with her arms and squeezing his legs with her own.

Quickly relaxing her hold, Sansa chastised herself at how often she blushed in Jon Snow’s company as she tried to think of a response.

“I don’t have any breeches or tunics and I couldn’t very well ride comfortably in one of my dresses. And Robb has locked himself in his room so he wasn’t an option.”

Just as Jon was about to respond, they exited the wolfswood and saw a small contingent of men including the Lord of Winterfell, his heir, and the Greyjoy heir.

Both groups noticed each other at the same time. The bigger group made their way towards Jon and Sansa and Jon reluctantly led the horse to meet them halfway.

“Jon!” Robb quickly dismounted his still cantering horse and practically ripped Jon off his saddle. “Where have you been? Are you alright?”

While Robb pestered Jon with questions, still holding him as close as he could, Sansa fumbled to find her balance and calm her mare.

“Jon.”

The air quickly grew tense as Ned addressed Jon.

Jon stiffly turned to his uncle, looking at the ground before finding the will to meet his eye and raise his chin.

“We have much to talk about,” Ned said, “but right now we have an execution to attend to. You’re more than welcome to come.”

Jon nodded about to turn to mount Sansa’s horse again when Ned told him he could take one of the guard’s mount and that guard would escort Sansa back to the castle, where her mother was looking for her.

Finding herself not wanting to leave Jon without support, she quickly blurted out, “ I want to come to the execution too!”

The men all stared at her in shock that quickly turned to amusement when Theon Greyjoy started laughing.

“You can’t come to an execution!” he chuckled. “It’s not something a delicate lady like you should bear witness too.”

While the guards and Robb tried to hide their chuckles, Sansa felt her eyes prickle with tears.

“Who said she was delicate?” Jon asked Theon, promptly cutting off the laughter.

“Jon,” Robb murmured, pulling at his arm, “executions weren’t meant to be seen by ladies.”

“Says who?” Jon retorted. When Robb could only gape, Jon turned to Ned, who had stayed silent and merely observed Sansa. “If Sansa can’t go then neither will I.”

“Well it’s not like the presence of a bastard will be missed,” Theon sneered.

“Theon.” That sharp but quiet reprimand from the Lord of Winterfell’s lips effectively silenced the Ironborn. When Theon didn’t say anything more, Ned turned to his eldest daughter brand leveled her with his gaze. “You’re absolutely certain you wish to accompany us to the execution Sansa?”

Sansa hesitated at the looks of the others, but when she caught Jon’s eyes, she straightened her spine, and looked her father in the eyes.

“Yes father.”

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Sansa was scared of the Night’s Watch deserter.

His eyes were crazed, parts of his face lost to the cold, clothes dirty and ragged. It didn’t help that he was rumbling crazy nonsense about the dead coming to life.

She didn’t think about what she was doing. She merely reached for Jon’s hand and gripped it tight. She only realized she had done that when he squeezed her hand in return.

She watched as the man said his last words, cringing as the Stark ancestral blade shined in the light, her father getting ready to swing the sword. But before he could bring said sword down, Jon stopped him, letting go of Sansa’s hand and kneeling before the deserter.

“Would you mind describing the things you saw in greater detail to me?” he asked, voice soft.

Theon scoffed and muttered obscenities under his breath while the rest of the party looked at each other in confusion.

The man sobbed but nodded, looking Jon in the eyes as he described rotten corpses while pale, eerie blue eyes who could not be stopped or defeated with any of the weapons the men carried. He described a blizzard descending upon them so suddenly they didn’t see the threat until they were right before them. And finally, he described a tall being made of ice standing and watching the slaughter a few yards away, his eyes glowing so bright that it followed the man for the longest time when he fled.

Jon nodded at the end of the tale, hand petting the man’s hair back repeatedly in a comforting manner as the man’s sobs grew louder.

“Please m’lord,” the man hiccuped, grabbing Jon’s hand with desperate eyes. “Tell me family I’m no craven. Let them know.”

“Give me their names and I will make sure they know you died serving the North and not a craven,” Jon promised. When he received the names of the family and where they lived, Jon repeated his promise and held on tighter to the man’s hand as a serious look entered his gaze.

“Go in peace now and know you will soon feast with the gods themselves. You’ve earned you place in their Great Hall.”

The man’s sobbing ceased with Jon’s words, a few hiccups escaping as he seemed to find his composure, peace exuding from him.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely to Jon. Then he looked towards Lord Stark, who had been watching Jon intently along with everyone else. “I’m ready to meet the gods.”

Jon returned to Sansa’s side as her father said the customary words. Just before the swung was brought down, Jon grabbed her hand once more and muttered discreetly, “Don’t look away.”

Sansa didn’t flinch when the sword was brought down, merely held onto Jon’s hand tighter. She did however, scowl when Theon kicked the man’s severed head as if it were a sport.

“You shouldn’t disrespect the dead like that,” she told him.

Theon turned to her, noticing her and Jon’s interlocked hands, and sneered. “The man was crazy, talking nonsense of the dead rising. And the only people crazier than people who talk of the dead rising are people who believe them.”

It was obvious he was trying to goad Jon, but Jon hadn’t reacted to Theon’s goading sine he came back. It only caused Theon to be even nastier to Jon than ever before. Still, Jon let go of her hand, leaving Sansa feeling cold.

“Theon, enough,” Robb said, though not with much conviction. “Jon was just being kind. He doesn’t really believe the dead are rising. Right Jon?”

Jon merely quirked an eyebrow and stayed silent.

This prompted Ned to say, “The Others are just a story, Jon. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Just like the dragons were a story?” Jon retorted.

This caused the men to shuffle uncomfortably. Because Jon made a good point. If dragons were real, then why couldn’t the Others be real as well?

“Just because the dragons were real doesn’t mean the Others were real as well,” Robb said.

“Then why does the Wall exist?” Jon asked him. “The Night’s Watch?”

“They were built to keep the Wildlings away and out,” Theon was quick to say, sneer still present on his face.

“If that were true, then why do they keep getting over the Wall?” Jon smartly questioned. “And why would the Wall be built of ice and magic, and be built so big just to keep _human beings_ out? I also really doubt the Night’s Watch is called _Night’s Watch_ because of the Wildlings.”

Jon’s words served to leave the men speechless.

“Look,” he sighed, “I’m not saying the dead _are_ rising. But I do think it’s worth investigating. I mean, the Night’s Watch has had more deserters this past year than before, and Wildlings fleeing onto our side of the Wall has also become more prevalent. There has to _something_ causing these things. It can’t just be a coincidence.”

Sansa couldn’t deny that Jon’s words made sense, but she desperately hoped he was wrong. She dreaded to think what it would mean if the Others were real and back.

Evidently, the rest of the group felt the same because they were all quiet. The only noise being the sound of the horses hooves on the ground.

Seeing something off the road in front of them, Sansa asked Jon, “What is that?”

Jon brought their horse to a stop and dismounted, helping Sansa down too once she looked at him expectantly. They wandered forwards as the rest of the party caught up to them and dismounted as well.

“Is that a stag?”

Jon didn’t care for the dead animal. Instead, he followed the trail of blood leading into the woods next to the road. At the end of the trail was a dead, fully grown direwolf, impaled by the antlers of the stag. There were also nine pups suckling from their dead mother.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Sansa's direwolf, Lady, trotted dutifully by her side as she made her way to her father’s solar.

When they had returned to Winterfell from the execution and with the direwolf pups, Sansa found her mother waiting for her. However, upon seeing Sansa sharing a horse with Jon, her mother’s face went from exhaustion and worry to a stoic coldness that put the Winter to shame with its iciness.

Sansa did not like her mother still being so cold and cruel to Jon despite knowing he wasn’t Lord Stark’s bastard. So when Catelyn tried to ban the direwolf pups, even going so far as to say it would be better if they were killed since wild beasts did not belong in a castle, and looked to Sansa for support, Sansa did not bother even looking in her mother’s direction.

That had been the day before and they had yet to talk since then.

Knocking on her father’s solar door, she waited to be let in before opening the door.

“You wished to see me, father?” she asked, taking a seat in front of hit desk.

Her father sighed, long face pale with exhaustion as he set the scrolls he was writing to the side. “Yes. But first, how have you been? I know you’ve taken on the duties of Lady of Winterfell these past few days. The staff tells me you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Sansa beamed at the proud smile her father directed at her and let him know she was fine, merely tired from the unexpected work she took on. Then she stared expectantly at him to let him know she was ready to listen to whatever it was he had to say.

Ned sighed once more.

“I realize these past few days have been rather hard on our family, and you’ve done more than you should without being asked. But I’m going to have to ask something of you that is more than you might be willing to agree to. Know that you can say no if you wish to,” her father said.

"What is it?”

Sansa though he was going to stay silent and not answer when he finally did.

“I’ve been thinking on a way to prove to Robert that Jon is no threat without sending him to the wall,” her father murmured. A brief flare of indignation on Jon’s behalf startled Sansa. She didn't dare linger on that feeling and what it could mean. “Though I don’t know why he’s so against the going to the Wall when he used to be so adamant about going before.”

“Mayhaps he realized he wanted more than punishment for existence,” she sniped before she could stop herself. She looked away from her father’s surprised look.

Ned cleared his throat, deciding to ignore Sansa’s stinging yet true remark. “Well, I was thinking that even though Jon has no legitimate claim to the Targaryen name, he could still renounce it up by marrying. Obviously he would need to marry someone loyal to Robert, so I was thinking, if you are amenable to it, that mayhems you can be the one Jon marries.”

To say she was shocked was an understatement. Sansa did not see the conversation going this way. Still, more shocking than what her father said was the lack of disgust or lack of negative reaction.

Ned however, took her silence and shock as her refusal and rushed to continue talking. “Obviously it will just be an engagement until you’re much older. And I do believe you have yet to, um, bleed.”

Both father and daughter were blushing bright red at his words. Sansa decided to end their misery quickly and agreed.

“You agree?” Ned said, eyes wide.

“I’m not _opposed_ to the idea,” Sansa muttered, the flush in her cheeks traveling to her chest as she avoided fiddling with her hands for it was an unladylike trait. “That is, if Jon agrees to it!”

“Yes well, I will speak to him shortly about it.”

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Sansa mindlessly brushed her hair, staring at herself in her looking glass.

Supper was a tense affair. Her mother was even more rigid than usual, Jon didn't look up from his food at all, and her father had never looked as old as he did sitting at that table, miserably forcing his food down his throat. Robb and Arya’s attempts to engage him went as ignored as their lady mother’s attempts to chastise them or engage in conversation with them.

It had a been a bit of a relief when her father had dismissed them from the table. But sitting in her nightclothes, brushing out her hair led to her agonizing over what Jon’s reaction to her father’s plan was.

He had not looked up once, not event o sneak a glance at her as she had multiple times. His face was an unreadable mask that just made her anxious and caused her to brush her hair out for much longer than usual.

In fact, she was still brushing her hair out an hour later when her door creaked open.

She opened her mouth, ready to scream when the figure turned around and revealed themselves to be Jon Snow.

“Jon!” she whisper shouted, heat rising to her cheeks as she rushed to pull a fur off her bed and wrap herself within. “What are you doing here? This is not proper!”

“You agreed,” is all he said.

“What?” Sansa said before she remembered. “Oh! Well, yes. I did.”

Jon’s gaze was intense. “Why?”

Sansa struggled to come up with the right words for a bit. She closed her mouth and cleared her throat, primly sitting on the edge of her bed and playing with the edge of the furs.

“I was bound to marry eventually, and I was never guaranteed to know the man I’d marry. And I know you. Maybe not as good as Robb or Arya, but I think that just makes it easier for us to marry. Of course, we will only marry if you agree!And I’d be a good wife to you! It won’t—I won’t ignore you! I can mend your clothes and I can learn to love you, I know it! I—”

“Sansa breathe,” Jon interrupted, coming to sit beside her and taking her hands into his. He breathed deeply, saying, “Look at me. Do what I’m doing.”

After a minute, Sansa had calmed down. Though now she was more embarrassed over her hyperventilation.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

Jon brushed her apology away, taking his hands back and wiping them on his thighs. “You understand I don’t expect any of those things from you, yes?”

Sansa faltered. Had she done something wrong? Did he not want to marry her?

“I just mean,” Jon quickly backtracked, “that you can do those things only if you want, but I won’t be mad or bothered if you don’t.”

Sansa nodded.

“I don’t want you to take this as an insult,” Jon began, shoulders tense, “but you know that marrying me won’t make you a princess right? Or a queen?”

Sansa’s blush returned tenfold, only it was an angry flush rather than an embarrassed one. She stood up, letting her fur fall as she began to pace.

“I know you and the others think me some silly little girl with dreams and songs stuck in her head, but I’m not stupid! I know the risk! It’s why I said yes, to protect our family! To protect you!”

The Jon from before would have surely blushed as hard if not harder than she was at the sight of her white silk night gown. Instead, he merely his an amused smile as he looked away from her and lifted her discarded fur.

Jon stood and made his way to her room door, but just as he was about to slip through, he turned and said, “I never thought you stupid. Otherwise I’d never have agreed as well. Also, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of your body.”

He left quickly after that, leaving Sansa redder than a burning fire, and a warm sensation at the pit of her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late upload, i got sick with the flu and started work but hopefully i'll be able to find my rhythm soon so that there aren't that big gaps between uploads


	4. Royal pains

The whole of Winterfell and most if not all of the Lords of the North stood in the courtyard. They were awaiting the arrival of Lord Stark's oldest friend, King Robert Baratheon, who according to sources came with the entire court and enough guards to be constituted as aggressive.

Despite being betrothed to Sansa and the reason for the South coming North, Jon Snow was delegated to the back of the crowd along with Theon Greyjoy, who had been even more nasty to Jon lately, by Lady Stark. Her children were less than pleased by her actions, but Lord Stark agreed with her.

When the crimson flags bearing a golden lion and yellow flags with black stags entered through the gates, the tension grew. Despite that, it didn’t stop Jon from disguising a chuckle into a cough when the Queen and her children had to walk through the gates because the wheelhouse they used to travel was unnecessarily large.

Ned Stark didn't hesitate to send Jon a stern look and quickly fall to one knee as a man too fat for his horse rode in wearing a crown. The rest of North followed in their lord’s footsteps and kneeled. Feeling petty and unwilling to bend the knee to a man he did not see as his king, Jon fell onto both knees and sat on the back of his calves.

Robert Baratheon got off his poor, weary horse with the help of a wooden stool his blonde haired squire, no doubt a Lannister, and tried to stride smoothly towards his childhood friend. Tried being the operative word because though his stride was confident and a little intimidating, his bulging stomach and heavy chins took away from the full effect. He was truly a sorry sight after hearing glorious war stories of the man and his war hammer.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” Lord Stark clearly stated.

“Rise,” the king boomed. And though he was very clearly angry, he still pulled Ned into a hug, slapping him a little more strongly than necessary on the back. “It’s great to see you old friend. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

Ned grimaced and was about to respond when Robert’s eyes landed on Jon, who had not bothered to look up and instead was fiddling with pieces of leather he seemed to be braiding into a bracelet.

“ _You!_ ” the king viciously spat, breaking through Ned and Robb to grab harshly at Jon’s collar, effectively gaining his attention. “Bastard dragonspawn!”

Despite Ned trying to tug his friend away, he was merely pushed away by Robert, causing him to stumble and almost fall if it weren’t for Robb and Lady Stark’s quick movements. Robert however, was too busy spitting in Jon’s face and moving his meaty hand from collar to neck in a tight grip to notice.

“It should have been you who died!” he roared in Jon’s rapidly purpling face as he squeezed harder with each word. “Lyanna should have lived and you should have died! YOU KILLED HER!!!”

Robert only let go of Jon’s neck when a tiny but powerful kick caused him to fall on his knees. He turned to see a miniature version of his lost love glaring at him, fists clenched in anger.

“Lyanna?” he gasped.

“My name is Arya!” the girl snapped. “And the next time you lay your hands on my brother I’ll do more than just kick you.”

“Arya!” Lady Stark reprimanded, tugging the girl away from the king and chastising her.

Robert looked to see his best friend was not rushing to help him stand but was kneeling along with his two eldest at Jon Snow’s side, who was rubbing his bruised neck and coughing, still trying to catch his breath.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Sansa felt her heart stop when the king grabbed Jon in a chokehold. She shrieked in terror, gathering her skirts to run to Jon’s side and get the king to stop when Arya beat her to it. So she knelt by Jon’s side and fretted over his hacking form, hovering over him as if to shield him from the king.

“Oh gods! Can you breathe? Jon?” she questioned, trying to see through tears blurring her eyes and gently caressing his face. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re fine. It’s okay.”

When Jon finally got his breathing under control with only a few coughs here and there, she held his head to her chest, carding her fingers through his curls as her father and brother also crowded them.

“Is he alright?” Robb asked. “Jon? Brother?”

“I’m alright,” Jon wheezed, sitting up with Sansa and Ned’s help. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Ned asked, looking worried as he helped Jon to stand up. When the boy nodded, he let go of Jon, his place taken up Robb, and he turned towards the king with a cold glare.

Robert, who had managed to get onto his feet with the help of three of his kingsguard, glared right back at Ned and barked, “Take me to your crypts!”

Ned stayed in place as Robert looked around for the entrance to said crypts. He only moved when his wife gave him a stern look and forceful nudge.

Sansa felt relief at watching the king move further away from Jon, who’s neck had an angry purple handprint, though it was more a blob given the king’s meaty fingers. She held onto Jon’s hand for dear life, only lessening her hold when the queen stepped forward. She was immediately entranced by the goldenness and beauty of the Lannister woman and her equally golden children. So it was with a blushing, demure smile that she gave her best curtsey.

“My Queen,” she chirped.

“Aren’t you just the loveliest sight,” Queen Cersei muttered with a small smile.

Sansa, unaware of the ingenuity behind the words and smile, preened at the acknowledgement. She preened even more, with her blush spreading even lower to her chest when the Crown Prince approached and took her hand, causing her to let go of Jon completely.

“My lady,” the prince muttered, thin lips kissing her knuckles.

Sansa ignored the discomfort at having his lips touch her skin and simpered in delight at having the Crown Prince pay her attention. She only moved her gaze away from him when his elder sister moved forwards and Jon snarled something in an unfamiliar tongue. Sansa turned to look at him in horror and embarrassment to see him trembling with rage, an icy glare directed in the Princess Cassana’s direction as Robb seemed to be getting ready to pull him back. But when she turned to the princess, she finally noticed the burly giant of a man at her side and the true victim of Jon’s rage.

The man himself looked apologetic but merely straightened his back as he responded to Jon in the same strange tongue. Evidently, what he said didn’t agree with Jon, who quickly snarled a response in retaliation. Evidently, this also didn’t agree with the burly man either as he lunged quickly with more grace than someone with his girth should have, and aimed a punch at Jon. But the young man was expecting such a move, so while the others were slow to react, Jon took a step back and leaned back so that the fist only just hit his nose.

“Rollo!” Princess Cassana screeched.

While both kingsguard and Lannister men drew their swords and faced off with the Stark men who had also unsheathed their swords, Sansa was frozen in shock.

“Stop!” Jon shouted, voice nasally from trying to stop his bruising nose from continuing to bleed profusely. “Stand down! Everything is fine.”

Rollo’s lip curled, but he gave a curt nod, taking steps back until he reached his young wife’s side, who looped her arm around his and tugged him to her side rather forcefully. With all the dignity she could muster, she turned to lady Catelyn and requested they be shown to their chambers for she was deeply tired from the long travel.

“Of course princess,” Lady Catelyn demurred. Then, with a sharp look at Sansa, said, “Sansa. Why don’t you escort Prince Joffrey to his chambers?”

With one hand in a tight grip on Arya’s arm and her other holding Rickon onto her hip, she led the remaining royal party into Winterfell and showed them towards the chambers she had prepared for them. And because she was also embarrassed by her family’s actions and Jon Snow’s insolence, she tittered away, complimenting the royals and speaking of when she lived in the south.

Mother and daughter disappeared inside, with only Sansa looking back once before becoming completely entranced with Prince Joffrey.

Jon stared after Sansa and was only brought out of his thoughts when Robb slapped a hand onto his shoulder.

“Well,” he sighed. “That went better than expected.”

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Jon wasn’t really a vain man, so he really only had a small looking glass. It was, however, not good enough to properly inspect his nose.

“Jon?” a muffled voice questioned from the other side of the closed door.

He debated leaving his shirt off just to see Sansa flustered, but he also didn’t want to embarrass her. Instead, he settled for pulling on a tunic and leaving it open. When, he bid her enter, his expectations were fulfilled when she flushed scarlet, but she didn’t look as embarrassed as when she walked in on him half naked or fully naked.

“How’s your nose?” she asked, face still red but determined to ignore her flustered state. She closed the door behind her and walked until she stood in front of him, lifting her hands to tilt his head from side to side to take a good look at his nose.

Jon stayed silent and merely stared at her.

“It’s no longer bleeding, and it’s not broken,” she muttered, eyebrows creased in concentration. “It may just be bruised, but I’m no maester. Did you already go to Maester Luwin?”

Again, Jon stayed silent and continued to stare.

Sansa, finally noticing his silence and gaze, stepped back with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

Jon couldn’t rein in his jealousy. “How’s Prince Joffrey? He settling in well?”

Sansa’s flush returned tenfold. Still, she straightened her spine and said, “As a Stark of Winterfell it is my duty to accommodate and host guests, especially the royal family.”

Jon felt his jealousy was consuming him and the bitterness of his situation since returning boiled over.

“Of course,” his response was curt. “Of course it’s your duty to fawn over that wormy little shit and his mother, who only have crowns because Tywin Lannister ordered the deaths of innocent babes. _My_ innocent babe half-siblings. I apologize for feeling slighted that my betrothed, who willingly agreed to marry _me_ first, was practically throwing herself into another’s arms and leaving me behind after being brutally assaulted by that same boy’s father. How silly of me. I should know by now that you only agreed to marry me out of duty and you don’t really care for me at all. After all, I’m just a lustful bastard trying to usurp his family’s place because I’m not capable of being my own person and building my own path in life besides that of which your lady mother believes. I couldn’t possibly relate to that because I never had a mother, or even a mother figure. Worry not, my Lady, for I am not your duty and you need not feel obligated to agree to marry me. I—”

A powerful slap cut Jon off from his tirade. Moving his jaw against the burning sting of it, he returned his gaze to Sansa, who was crying silently, fury and hurt written plainly across her face.

They were both silent, with their breaths being the only sound heard. Jon was the one to break it.

“You should really leave for your chambers, my Lady,” he muttered, voice low. “You don’t want to be late to the welcoming feast. and I’m sure you wish to look your best for House Stark’s _esteemed_ guests.”

Sansa drew herself to her full height and waited for one heartbeat before she took her leave.

Jon was left trembling, feeling all the anger, sadness, and insecurities he’s pent up for all his life. Before he trashed his small and sparse room, he properly dressed in a hurry, grabbing his hidden weapons, and stormed out towards the stables, where he mounted an unsaddled horse and galloped away through the Hunter’s gate. He made sure he wasn’t followed by anyone, especially by Lannisters.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Sansa could not believe Jon was capable of saying what he did to her. She just couldn’t. On the one hand, she understood where he was coming from. But on the other, he could not seriously believe so little of her.

When she returned from Jon’s rooms, she wasted no time in throwing herself onto her bed and sobbing her heart out. And while she still was crying, it wasn’t the heart-wrenching sobs of before. She was crying silently and hiccuping while deep in her thoughts when Robb came to her chambers.

“What’s wrong?” he said as soon as he saw her tears. He rushed to her side and held her hands. “Who hurt you? Tell me so that I may return the favor in kind.”

Sansa only shook her head and resumed crying in earnest as she threw herself into her elder brother’s arms.

“Was it the Prince?” Robb continued. “Because I’ll kill him, I swear. I don’t care if he’s a prince. It’s not his title anyways. Not really. It’s Jon’s.”

At his name Sansa’s pain was renewed and she cried harder. Evidently this alerted something in her usually oblivious brother.

He was quiet for a beat as he comforted her. Then, “Was Jon the one who made you cry?”

Sansa pulled away and forced herself to stop crying. Annoyingly the hiccups persisted.

“It’s complicated Robb,” she sniffled.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

Sansa contemplated saying no, but ultimately decided it would be better to talk and get it off her chest rather than keeping it all in. So she told her brother all that had transpired since the royals arrived. From fearing for Jon’s life, to meeting the Prince, to conversing with the Queen, and finally to what went down in Jon’s room.

“He can’t really think so little of me!” Sansa cried to her brother, still very hurt by Jon’s words. But the hurt didn’t blind her to Robb’s uncomfortable look and hesitance to talk. “What? You think he can?”

“I didn’t say anything!” Robb quickly spoke.

“But you wanted to!” she retorted. Her eyes watered once again. “You think I’m horrible too!”

“No!” he denied fervently. “Not at all. I just think that there was a big misunderstanding due to lack of communication.”

Sansa was confused. “What do you mean?”

Robb took a moment to collect his thought before explaining himself to his little sister.

“You have to understand,” he began, “that while you and Jon may have shared a home almost your entire lives, Jon had a significantly different childhood than you, than _us_ , and it’s bound to leave its mark. I mean, Jon has never and will never have a mother. He’s never known a mother’s love. And although we all want to believe otherwise, mother isn’t exactly kind, or civil for that matter, to him. And you’ve never bothered talking or even looking in his direction since the truth came out. I’m not saying it has anything to do with your change of heart, but you have to see how it looks. And this is uncomfortable for me to say, but the truth is no man wants to see his woman tripping over herself for another man. Or boy in this case.”

Sansa mulled her brother’s words, the comment about Joffrey going over her head, and couldn’t help but feel awful the more she realized just how right he was. Of course Jon would feel self-conscious, especially with how she treated him up until recently. The fact that it was Joffrey, son of the two people whose family are responsible for the death of his family and, indirectly, his upbringing, that she was charmed by was just the icing on top of the lemon cake. How could she be so stupid?

"Oh, Robb!” she wailed. “How could I have been so stupid? I have to talk to him!”

Just as she stood to rush out the door, her brother blocked her path.

“After the feast,” he pleaded. “I know it’s not ideal but Jon needs some space for right now and you need to get ready. Mother sent me to get you. I guess she thought you’d be ready. I’ll just help her instead. Don't worry, I’ll cover for you.”

As Robb left, Sansa contemplated going to find Jon instead of getting ready, despite her mother’s wishes. In the end, she decided it would be unwise to anger her mother and the royal family with tardiness. She needed her mother to be on Jon’s side and she knew if she was late because she went to find Jon, Catelyn Stark would find a way to blame Jon for it. And the royals needed to be placated in order for mercy to be bestowed on House Stark and Jon himself.

Still, she made sure to wear a dove grey dress with white embroidery, and as tribute to her betrothal to Jon, she quickly yet prettily stitched black fur on the collar and wrists. Her hair, instead of being in the complicated Southern braids of this afternoon, was instead pinned back with half her hair in a simple braided bun and the rest hanging loose down her back.

By the time she was done, the feast was on the verge of starting, but her face still showed signs of crying. So, using a cloth dunked in cold water, she cleaned her face and tried to get rid of the lingering puffiness. Once her face was back to normal she quickly pinched her cheeks to bring color to them and was off.

She went to Jon’s room to see if he was still there, but he wasn’t. She carried on to the entrance of the Great Hall where the rest of her family and the royals, save for Princess Cassana and her husband Rollo were already waiting.

“Sansa!” her mother called. And although her tone was innocent, Sansa could see the anger simmering in her mother’s eyes. “Where have you been?”

“Apologies lady mother, Your Graces,” Sansa said, falling into a graceful, if a little shallow, curtsey.

Queen Cersei smiled. “You look beautiful, little dove. Doesn’t she look beautiful, Joff?”

Crown Prince Joffrey wiped the bored look off his face and sauntered over to Sansa with overconfident smugness. He took her hand in his, completely disproving all the songs who describe princes as gallant and offering a hand, never taking from a maiden.

“You are simply stunning, my Lady,” Prince Joffrey smirked, emerald eyes gleaming with a perverted glee Sansa did not understand. How had she not noticed how odd he was?

Still, Sansa fixed a pretty smile and thought of Jon’s naked torso to bring a blush to her cheeks, to make it more believable.

“I thank you, my prince, Your Grace,” Sansa murmured, heart aching to find Jon and make things right rather than being with the Baratheons and Lannisters.

“Where is your betrothed, girl?" came the king's booming voice. He still looked angry, but he no longer trembled in rage or had that murderous look in his eyes.

Feeling angry at this king’s arrogance to attack not just Jon but her family in their own home, Sansa said, as innocently as she could fake, “I have him under strict orders to heal. I’m sure you understand the concern one can have for their betrothed’s well-being, Your Grace.”

Despite not saying anything really insulting or mean, Sansa knew she was still being insolent with that last comment. It was evident that while King Robert didn’t get the reference to her Aunt Lyanna, Queen Cersei and her parents certainly did. Still, only her mother gave her an enraged look whereas her father gave her a pleading one.

“Let us walk in and begin the feast,” her father quickly said, taking his wife’s arm in his. But he was stopped by the king, a man he held in high esteem as his long time friend and foster brother, who roughly ripped Catelyn away from him and tugged her to his side in a tight grip.

“I’ll walk your woman in. You walk in mine,” King Robert ordered, and seeing his wife’s suppressed wince Ned stayed quiet. “Your firstborn son will walk in with Myrcella, Tommen with the youngest girl. Joffrey, you’ll escort the bastard dragonspawn’s betrothed.”

King Robert promptly walked in, half-dragging Catelyn Stark with him and not giving the others the chance to protest. So with a well-hidden grimace, Sansa suppressed the shivers and wince she felt at the Prince’s greedy and aggressive hold.

It was a long and tense walk to the front of the hall. And though the feast at first was subdued and tense, save for the king who drank and groped at Winterfell’s servants like they were no better than whores and the arrogant Lannisters who acted like they were better, the drinks kicked in a couple hours later and livened up the Northern lords.

“Little dove,” Queen Cersei murmured towards Sansa, beckoning to her. Once Sansa reached the high table, the Lannister woman continued. “That is quite the dress you have on. Tell me, did you make it yourself?”

Despite the uneasiness she felt Sansa preened under the praise and nodded.

“Such talent. You must make something for me,” she smiled, eyes vacant.

Sansa merely kept her pleasant face on and nodded.

“And how old are you?” the queen continued.

“I’m a few moons shy of being five and ten, your grace,” Sansa responded.

“And have you bled yet?” Queen Cersei boldly questioned.

Cheeks red and gaze lowered, Sansa shook her head.

“I see,” the Lannister Queen hummed. “It’s a shame you’ve been betrothed to the bastard. Such beauty should not be wasted, it should be celebrated. You would do well in the South."

Sansa was sure the queen meant nothing, but she couldn’t help but think the queen wanted her to be betrothed to her son instead of Jon. Sansa did not want to think what that would mean if that were the truth. She desperately wished for Jon’s steadfast supports had relied on these past few moons.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦ ****

Sansa had felt pains on her lower back and stomach all day. In fact, it was what had woken her up so early in the morning, despite usually sleeping in after a long feast.

They were deeply uncomfortable, and since she was in the company of the Queen, the Princesses, and the ladies-in-waiting of the royal court, she tried her best to hide the grimaces of pain and continue working on the handkerchief she was making for Jon.

“Lady Sansa,” Septa Mordane spoke. “What is the matter? Your needlework is average today.”

“I think her embroidery is just beautiful,” Princess Myrcella shyly said, coming to Sansa’s defense as she stared at her work in awe.

“Well yes,” Septa Mordane hurried to agree, face a little red, “but it’s usually much better than this. What’s wrong Sansa?”

Sansa smiled through another discomfort at all he ladies who were now staring at her. “Thank you my princess,” she said to Myrcella. Then she turned to Septa Mordane. “I’ve been having stomach and back pains all morning, septa. Pray forgive me, your graces, my ladies, but I think I’ll just retire to my chambers for a bit of rest,” she told the southron women, standing and making her way to put her embroidery basket away.

A few gasps and tittering giggles alerted Sansa to something being wrong with her person. She didn’t have the time to find out before Arya jumped up with a worried expression.

“Sansa you’re bleeding!” she screeched. Then, she jumped to her feet and grabbed at her wrist, moving to drag her out of the room. “We have to take you to Maester Luwin now!”

Feeling the flush of embarrassment and shame all the way down to her chest, Sansa tried to calm Arya but still follow her out of the chambers. But a sickeningly sweet voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You’re a woman now, little dove,” Queen Cersei smiled. Sansa could see the same malicious glee in her eyes she often saw in her son’s identical eyes. “Fit to marry your bastard brother turned cousin and bear his babes.”

Sansa blushed at her words as the rest of the ladies in waiting giggled at Sansa’s embarrassment. But the queen’s next words drained the blood out of Sansa’s face and left her fearing for what this meant for her now.

“The king will be most pleased with this news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the long wait! i've read your comments and have tried to answer them in my writing.
> 
> but for those that I didn't address:  
> 1\. yes there are nine direwolf pups  
> 2\. dragons will be making an appearance, but i don't want to reveal too much  
> 3\. i did not plan on a love triangle between Jon and Sansa, but i'm down to explore it if you guys would like, however it would have to be with a different character than Ingrid (you'll see why soon)
> 
> leave your thoughts and comments !! <3 i promise to answer your questions in the strifes and these notes if not directly!
> 
> and thank you for all the support and love!! i really appreciate it and it means so much to me!!


	5. 4. A whole bloody affair

His door being kicked open woke him from his fitful rest.

He didn’t think, just let his muscle memory react. Grabbing the dagger he hid under his pillow, he rolled out of his bed and had his back facing the window, his emergency escape route. The sleep was just starting to leave his mind when the voices of the intruders spoke.

“Put your blade away, boy,” Ser Jaime Lannister smirked, smug arrogance oozing off him in waves. “The King has requested your presence in the Lord’s solar.”

Finally registering the four kingsguard with swords drawn, Jon relaxed his stance, but didn’t let go of his dagger. He leisurely made his way to his shabby dresser for his clothes.

"Four kingsgaurd for a request?” he muttered, opening the drawers. “You’re sure you heard correctly, kingslayer?”

Jon had his clothes picked out and turned to see Jaime Lannister red with indignation and the other three, Trant, Blount, and Moore, not trying to hide their sniggers.

"The Mad King got what he deserved in the end,” Jaime stiffly told him. Then he obviously forced himself to relax and brought his smug smirk back onto his arrogant face. “Worry not dragonwolf, I did you a favor by killing him. He wouldn’t have been grandfatherly at all.”

Jon stripped off his sleeping tunic and pants, aware of the curious stares on his person as he took his time to dress. He made sure to keep his gaze steady on Jaime, watching him get riled up at not being able to rile Jon himself.

“I couldn’t give a wet shit about Aerys Targaryen,” he deadpanned, internally smirking at the kingsguards’ surprised reactions. “I’m talking about the king you let die at the hands of one of your father’s bannermen whilst you lounged on that monstrous bloody chair all you southerners kill each other for. You know the king I’m referring to I hope? King Aegon? Sixth of his name? Son of Princess Elia of Dorne and Prince Rhaegar? The king whose head you let get ruthlessly smashed against wall into pieces. Some of those pieces clinging and staining his murderer’s hands as he raped that same king’s mother while she cried in horror at watching her son be butchered like common cattle. You remember him don’t you?”

Ser Jaime’s face was stone, but his eyes told Jon everything. Those emerald eyes shined with his guilt and failure, but the glassy look to them let Jon know that the man felt misery too. It was a vindictive sort of satisfaction at seeing Jaime’s pain, that settled wrong in Jon’s stomach, but it was satisfaction nonetheless.

Finally dressed, Jon made to walk out of his rooms. He should have expected the aggression after provoking the lion.

Jon had barely felt the pain of his knees crashing against the stone before he was yanked to his feet with a hard yank to his curls, followed by a powerful backhand that had him land into two sets of hands that right away dragged him away. The harshness of it all didn’t allow for him to regain his senses or balance until he was unceremoniously thrown on the floor before his father’s desk. Once he could see clearly, he saw Robert Baratheon sitting in Lord’s Stark’s chair and Lord Stark himself being held back by Lannister guards from helping him up. Lady Catelyn was holding onto a crying and pale Sansa just behind Lord Stark.

“Your young bride has bled this morn,” King Robert thundered, wine sloshing out of his chalice. “You shall be married the day after she stops her bleeding.”

Jon blinked. It took him a moment longer than he’d like to speak, but he did, only sparing Sansa a quick glance to avoid looking at her terrified face.

“You must be joking,” Jon said, not really thinking about how this man had almost killed him just the day before.

It was incredible how fast the king’s face purpled.

“You dare—” he began.

“I just meant,” Jon loudly interrupted, despite being aware he was on thin ice, “that it is not nearly enough time to prepare for the wedding of the daughter of the Warden of the North.”

King Robert looked to his longtime friend, and at Ned Stark’s tormented face, seemed to be about to agree. Unfortunately, the oldest Baratheon turned to look back at Jon and grew infuriated once more.

“A Warden of the North who willingly committed treason!” King Robert thundered, slamming a meaty fist on the desk. “Traitors such as the Starks should be grateful I’m even allowing this farce of a wedding! You are alive by my mercy, _boy!”_

Jon clenched his fists and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He said nothing and just bowed his head as he waited to be dismissed.

As soon as he waved a heavily jeweled hand in dismissal, Sansa tore out of her mother’s embrace and into Jon’s, who promptly hugged her to him and glared at the guards who stood at the entrance. As soon as the door closed behind them, they could clearly hear both Lord and Lady Stark addressing the king only to be promptly cut off by the man’s booming anger.

Jon was brought out of his anger when he felt Sansa buckle against him and break out into loud sobs. Acting quick, he swooped the young girl into his arms, tightening his hold on her when she hid her face in his neck.

Seeing as her room was nearest, he entered and set Sansa down on her bed. But before he could leave her to lock the door, she clung onto the front of his shirt.

“Please,” she whimpered, blue eyes rimmed red and gently weeping. “Don’t leave me alone. Please.”

Not able to respond, Jon simply nodded and only briefly hesitated when she moved over and lightly tugged him in invitation. He settled stiffly on his back next to her and tensed even more when she pressed her body up against his and cuddled into him, seeking comfort. A moment later, he forced himself to relax. Before he knew it, he was holding onto the hand Sansa had perched on his chest, and the other was running leisurely up and down her back.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. Fiddling with the laces of his doublet, she continued, “I shouldn’t have cried. I had no right to.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “You have every right.”

When Sansa just stayed quiet, he grabbed a hold of her chin and brought her head up until their gazes met. “You have every right to cry. Not only were you denied the husband you’ve always dreamed of, you were also denied the chance of being queen, and a true proper wedding. Not a forced event where you are most likely to be made fun of because you’re marrying me. Which, I am so terribly sorry for by the way.”

The door was aggressively pushed open just as Sansa opened her mouth, and in stormed Lord and Lady Stark, followed by a fuming Robb and disgruntled Arya.

Sansa and Jon immediately sprung apart, the former blushing furiously. The latter however, stiffened up at the familiar look of cold fury and disgust on the Tully lady turned Stark Matriarch.

“You dare,” she began, snarl vicious and ugly, “to sully my daughter even more than you already have?”

“Catelyn,” Ned murmured, visibly worn, at the same time a disbelieving yelped out a, “Mother!”

Jon stayed silently seething. He wanted so badly to stand up for himself, to speak out just like Ingrid had pushed him to do. But he knew he couldn’t. The Starks didn’t know really know who he was. All they knew was the bastard boy who cowered before Lady Stark, not the man he had become in his time away from Winterfell.

“As if it isn’t enough you are robbing her of the chance of being queen,” Catelyn continued, ignoring Ned and pushing Sansa, who tried to restrain her mother from advancing on Jon, away, “you also wish to rob her of the one dignity she has left!"

Jon tried to be understanding, he really did. But he couldn’t help the hurt and anger bubbling up to the surface at Robb and Arya’s silence and lack of action. Usually, they would be on the frontlines trying to protect him from their mother’s wrath. But, ever since the truth came out about him and he and Sansa became engaged, Robb acted strangely with him and tended to spend more time with Theon, who was even more nasty than usual, and Arya had been moody and mean with him.

“GET OUT!” she finally screeched, infuriated at his silence.

Jon didn’t hesitate in storming out, but not before registering that his uncle, while giving him a sorry look, did nothing to stop his wife or Jon himself from leaving.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

He wondered if she actually looked like that. He doubted it, but he hoped her statue bared _some_ likeness to her. Even if he wasn’t sure how he felt about her.

“She loved you with all her heart you know.”

Jon didn’t bother to look away from his mother statue. He just continued staring, leaning his back against the crypt wall, arm resting on his bent knee.

Ned cleared his throat and continued with his approach. After only a moment of hesitation, he took a seat next to his nephew with minimal effort and a soft grunt.

“I get that you might be angry with me,” he began, only to be cut off with a disbelieving scoff from the young man sat behind him.

“Don’t,” Jon muttered, fists clenching. “Don’t ever presume to know what it is I am feeling or thinking. You don’t know who I am. Not anymore.”

Ned felt the tears gather in his eyes. “I know you don’t understand why I did the things I did.”

“Do you know,” Jon cut him off, “that when I first found out about my parentage, I thought you hated me? I mean, what else was I supposed to think. The man I thought to be my father turned out to be a liar. And the worst part of it all was that I couldn’t think of a single thing to prove my insecurities wrong. I still can’t.”

The tears fell and blinded him as he grabbed the boy he raised as a son. It didn’t take long before Jon’s sobs joined his own, and Ned felt his shudders reverberate through his own body.

“I do love you,” Ned rasped into his son’s neck. “Whatever type of a man I may be, you can doubt. But never doubt my love for you. Because I would die for you before I saw you dead.”

“Then why have you never showed it!” Jon cried, ripping himself away from the man he still saw as his father. “Why did you let her hurt me? Why didn’t you tell me the truth? Was it ever your intention to tell me the truth? Or was I right in assuming you were hoping I’d make the choice to go to the Wall so that you would never have to worry about choosing between my and your friend? Great guy by the way! He’s got quite the grip on him.”

Ned flinched at Jon’s acidic tone, shoulders drooping as he considered his words. Truth be told, he was hoping Jon would make his choice for him. And though it was horrible to admit, he knew he would always be a coward and take the truth of Jon’s parentage to the grave with him. Partially because it was the safest option for all involved, but mainly because he couldn’t stand the thought of possibly losing Jon. As for Catelyn, well, he had no real excuse for that. Just because she was the mother of his children and wife did not mean he should have let her get away with her cold treatment of Jon.

“Robert won’t ever lay a hand on you again,” Ned swore, desperately gripping onto Jon, who was slowly moving away.

Jon stopped and smiled a smile so sad and so like his mother’s when they discussed Robert, that Ned was taken aback he stayed frozen long after Jon’s parting words.

“Don’t worry Lord Stark. I’ve made my peace with who you’ve chosen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in updating, this whole pandemic threw me for a loop and online classes have been chaotic to say the least
> 
> anyways, I made a tumblr if you wanna follow it (I'm still working on it tho but I'll respond there): queenofthewolvxs


	6. An unplanned wedding is put into motion

Sansa had not been able to go within six feet of Jon since the moment they shared four days ago. That meant she hadn’t been left alone to her own devices and had therefore been unable to talk to Jon. She found herself surprised by how badly she wanted to speak with Jon. It was a deep yearning, almost an ache, to talk to him, maybe even hold his hand.

She was contemplating these new feelings of hers by the fire when the door to her chambers opened.

“Oh good,” Septa Mordane said, “you’re already awake.”

Sansa tensed, anger causing her to clench her jaw at the Septa’s words. She remembered the scolding she got from the woman just three days past. It took everything in Sansa to not lash out at the woman. The septa did not hold back on cursing Jon and lamenting the loss of being queen. Septa Mordane preached on the values of the Seven and claimed Jon’s bastard wiles and desires led to him trying to seduce a noble lady such as herself so that he may steal from the Starks.

Sansa had walked out before she got violent. She had never experienced such rage before and she found that it would not cool down no matter what she did. The rage only left her body when she wandered into the godswoods and found herself praying to the old gods. Before she left, she found herself pricking her finger with her sewing needle and watching small drops of her blood fall onto the roots of the weirwood.

“Are you still bleeding?”

Sansa remained quiet, gaze steadily watching the fire. She felt a thrill at such disobedience coming from her. Arya was usually the difficult daughter.

“Sansa!” the septa reprimanded. “It is not becoming of a lady to ignore others when being addressed! I taught you better than that young lady.”

Sansa sighed and turned away from the fire, face void of emotion.

“No, septa, I am no longer bleeding.”

Septa Mordane glared at her and humphed. The woman bustled to Sansa’s side and pulled her up, tittering on about how unlike her and unbecoming it is of a lady to wake so late in the date. Sansa was tired of hearing the septa. She was the perfect lady all the time and she was just now starting to see the golden cage she was trapped in.

Arya was as wild as the sigil of their house but she was the one they all thought smart. She was the one everyone considered a true northern woman. She got that small prideful smile from their father that Sansa tried her very hardest to get directed at her. Meanwhile, Sansa was the daughter all the lords lusted over, but never respected. They thought themselves so sneaky, whispering behind her back of her southern looks and manners, believing she didn’t hear a word they said. Then they would go up to her and ask her for a walk around Winterfell or a dance, complimenting her on those same things they looked down on her for.

“You’re not even listening to me!” Septa Mordane said, voice shrill.

“Leave, septa,” Sansa finally said. “I have no need of your assistance.”

Septa Mordane spluttered in disbelief at her pupil’s rude dismissal. And when she tried to reprimand her again, Sansa stood up and used her growing height and noble status to assert herself.

Pulling her shoulders back and raising her chin to look down on the older woman, Sansa let her annoyance show.

“I am the daughter of the lord you serve, a daughter of a Great House, and I am ordering you to leave. Do not make me tell you again Septa Mordane.”

Red in the face with embarrassment and anger, Septa Mordane stalked out of Sansa’s chambers in a rush, no doubt to tell Lady Stark.

Sansa found herself not caring of what her mother had to say.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Jon had never in his life felt so alone.

After returning from the crypts, Jon entered his chambers to be confronted with Robb. What turned into a rather impatient interrogation turned into a full blown argument that ended when Robb accused him of the same things his mother was always accusing him of. Jon didn’t bother hearing Robb’s apologies. It had been a long day and the sun was barely starting to descend.

The next day, Jon woke up to Arya glaring at him. Before he could speak, she went on a breathless rant about how hurt she was that he was picking Sansa over her and how he was just like everyone else. It took a while but Jon managed to explain himself to her. Unfortunately, before they could move on and hang out, Lady Stark barged in with Septa Mordane and some of the household guards she had brought with her from Riverrun to take Arya away.

Guards had been by Arya’s side ever since, as well as Sansa’s. He had realized that when he tried to talk to her later that same day. He didn’t have to sneak out to know that they guards would also be posted outside their chamber doors at night.

And since he was not talking to Robb or his uncle, that left Jon all alone.

“All right there bastard?”

Except, of course, for the times when Theon felt like picking a fight with him.

“What am I saying? Of course you are!” Theon sneered. “You’re getting everything you’ve ever desired. The Stark name, a pretty wife. Of course, you don’t get Winterfell, but your soon to be wife is a Stark of Winterfell, an heir. Should I expect the deaths of Robb, Bran, and Rickon soon? Or are you waiting to fuck your bastard heir into Sansa’s belly first?”

Theon never saw the fist coming. And once Jon landed that one punch, he threw himself onto the older boy and continued his assault. He didn’t hold back in his punches, so consumed in rage he didn’t hear the crunch of Theon’s broken nose or the blood gushing out of the man’s nose and mouth.

Jon only stopped when the guards pulled him off the arrogant squid and he saw Sansa standing before them, face a cold mask and hands clasped gently in front of her.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lady Stark thundered, skirts whipping wildly as she strutted out to the courtyard, Septa Mordane right behind her.

As soon as she caught sight of Jon and Theon, her face became an alarming shade of red. Just as she heaved a big breath meant to no doubt yell at him further, Lord Stark came rushing from the godswood demanding to know what was going on.

“Your bastard,” Catelyn began, tone rivaling the potency of any poison the Red Viper owned.

“Was defending my honor,” Sansa cut off her mother, walking forwards. “Theon provoked him into a fight with ugly taunts, one of which concerned me and was rather crude of him to say.”

With a sharp look at the soldiers holding Jon, they loosened their grip.

Catelyn Stark looked at her daughter in both fury and confusion. She quickly composed herself and sweetly told her daughter, “Sweetling, you don’t have to protect the bastard just because he is your betrothed.”

The glare she received took Catelyn aback.

“ _Jon_ ,” Sansa exaggerated, “is not in the wrongs therefore I _will_ defend him mother. Because Theon was the one to instigate a fight and Jon did nothing except defend his honor and mine.”

A tense silence followed Sansa’s words, soon broken by her father.

“Is this true?” He asked Jon.

But before Jon could defend his actions, a cacophony of armor and thunderous booming could be heard coming their way. He didn’t have to look to know it was the Baratheon King with his Lannister guards. A display of power from the lions, and one the stags seemed blind too. Jon was waiting for Robert Baratheon’s downfall since the moment he first met the royals.

“What is going on?” Robert demanded. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer and just looked at Ned. “I’ve just been notified that your daughter has stopped bleeding. From someone who was _not_ you. The wedding will happen tonight.”

“You said the day after!” Ned told his friend, whom he was starting to see as more of a nuisance and bad king than the friend he remembered. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Robert was nowhere near as a good a friend as he was to Robert.

“I changed my mind,” the king dismissed, already turning back to the castle. “Make the necessary arrangements!”

He had disappeared before Ned could argue more.

Lady Stark looked more livid than before as she stomped towards Sansa and forcefully dragged her away.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

“I can’t believe you’re getting married tonight. And to _Sansa_ of all people.”

Jon chuckled at Arya’s disgusted scowl and said, “She’s not that bad you know.”

Eyes identical to his narrowed in suspicion. “And how would you know that? I haven’t seen the two of you spent time together since _the incident_.”

Before Jon could respond, the door to his chambers opened and the subject of their conversation snuck in. But she startled and let out a quiet gasp at seeing Arya laying down on his bed. Sansa wasn’t expecting to see her sister there, that much was clear.

“What are you doing here?” Arya demanded, sitting up on Jon’s bed.

“I could ask you the same,” Sansa quickly retorted, an unfamiliar feeling churning at her stomach at the sight of her little sister in her betrothed’s bed.

“I asked you first!”

Jon interrupted them before it could escalate into another one of their arguments. He moved away from the window and asked Arya to leave, telling her he would see her in the morning. And despite her protests and scowls, he managed to get her to leave him and Sansa alone and to not tell anyone.

Silence enveloped the couple for a long moment.

Jon broke the silence for once. “Is something wrong?”

Sansa startled and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She couldn’t believe her body betrayed her so.

“No,” she shook her head. “I just wanted to check in on you after, well, everything I suppose.”

“I’m fine,” he reassured her.

“You know Theon’s just lashing out right?” She was hesitant in her approach, but took confidence in the softening in his eyes to sit next to him on his bed. “I know you love all of us and would die before you let harm befall us. And any child I give you will not be a bastard. It will be a Stark, just like any future siblings it may have.”

Jon couldn’t help the chuckle that left his mouth. He found it amusing to refer to a child as an “it.” But, Sansa took his chuckle to mean he was laughing at her.

Jon quickly grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I appreciate you coming to comfort me.”

Sansa blushed, just barely containing the smile that wanted to burst from her. She didn’t want to come on as too eager, too _childish_.

“But,” Jon continued, effectively killing Sansa’s joy and replacing it with fear that she had done something wrong, “I want us to wait on having children.”

Her lip trembled. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No of course not!” He pulled her into his arms and comforted her as he rushed to explain. “It’s just that you’re too young to be married as it is, getting with child now would be difficult and dangerous for you. I want children, I do. But I don’t want to put your life at risk.”

Sansa felt the familiar fluttering in her tummy that she had recently come to associate with Jon. He cared for her wellbeing! Her mother and Septa Mordane knew nothing but lies. Jon was not a monster. He didn’t treat the staff of Winterfell like they weren’t worthy of breathing the same air as him like the prince and queen did. Jon was being honest with her about their marriage and what he wanted for them. She never expected to be treated as an equal the way Jon was treating her.

So she nodded her head, bringing her gaze up to meet his. “Okay,” she agreed, but a nagging thought would not leave her mind.

“What is it?”

Jon could read her so well.

“It’s just,” Sansa started, averting her eyes again as her cheeks flushed once more, “I know that men have, um, _needs_. An—”

“If you’re worried I will stray from our bed, I won’t,” Jon quickly cut her off. “There are other ways to take care of those needs you speak of. Besides, there are ways to couple without the risk of getting you with child.”

Sansa was warm all over, so much so that she felt tingles where her body touched his. The flutters furiously churning at her stomach made her fidgety.

She wanted to ask how he knew those things, but a lady should never speak about such matters. Though if she was being honest, it wasn’t about being ladylike at all but rather the ugly feeling at the pit of her stomach. A feeling she had been feeling a lot lately in regards to Jon that she did not want to acknowledge.

Jealousy.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

The ceremony was a solemn affair. It was an affront to the Old Gods in the eyes of the Northmen.

Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey seemed to be the only ones enjoying the affair, if their smug smirks and cruel emerald eyes were anything to go by. They stood a few feet away from King Robert who was steadily glaring at Jon, already reeking of wine. His retinue stood behind him.

Jon was stood before the Heart Tree dressed in new clothes that Sansa had made for him. The black leather jerkin was left open, much to Lady Catelyn’s annoyance, showing off his grey tunic. Normally, he would have a sword belt around his new trousers—also black—but since the king hated him, he was not allowed to carry any sort of weapon. His boots were new and freshly shined, a gift from his Uncle Ned.

“When is this ceremony going to begin?” King Robert boomed. His court of southrons tittered in agreement, shivering in the light summer snows.

The Northmen all scowled and muttered angrily, lightly clothed compared to the people across from them who were bundled as if there was a snow storm happening. The divide between North and South could not be more obvious at that moment. But the royal family did not notice it at all.

Before a fight could ensue, Ned and Sansa were making their way to the godswood.

Jon felt the breath leave his body once he caught sight of Sansa. He had always known she was beautiful, but at that moment, she was, ethereal.

He knew she made had made her dress and that she was good with a needle, but wow. The dove grey dress was simple and flowed out at the waist. The neckline was embroidered to look like the roots of the branches of weirwood leaves that adorned her sleeves. The cuffs of the sleeves were trimmed with black fur. The skirt was plain except for the blue roses made out of silk, a poor imitation of winter roses that Sansa made look good. Her hair was half up in in a braid twisted to look like a rose at the back of her head, the rest was left to flow down her back. A back that was hidden by a white cloak with the grey direwolf fo House Stark that was much too big on her.

As Sansa and Lord Stark come to a stop in front of Jon, he gives his bride an encouraging smile that has her cheeks turning pink as she smiled shyly back.

Jon quickly started the ceremony before anyone could ruin this moment for them anymore than it already was.

“Who comes? Who comes before the gods?”

“Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed,” Lord Stark replied, voice sure and steady. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

After a moment of hesitation where he contemplated saying the houses he belonged to, Jon answered, choosing to not claim any house.

“Me, Jon Snow. I claim her. Who gives her?”

“Eddard of House Stark, her father,” Lord Stark replied. Then he turned to his daughter. “Lady Sansa, do you take this man?”

Sansa didn’t hesitate in getting go of her father and putting her hand on Jon’s outstretched one. “I take this man.”

They kneel before the tree and pray. Jon prays for a happy marriage and the ability to protect his family. He prays that he’ll be reunited with he family he left behind and asks at the possibility of returning, knowing he’s already asked too much of the gods. Sansa prays for a happy marriage as well and for many healthy babes.

They open their eyes at the same time and make eye contact. Once standing, Sansa took off her cloak and put it around Jon, a proud look in her eyes despite the reversal of roles. But Jon had planned to cloak her after she had cloaked him as a surprise. So, grabbing the cloak Arya was holding for him, he put it around Sansa, who was smiling brightly at her now husband. The cloak fit her perfectly.

“Are you not man enough to kiss your bride, _boy_.”

The moment was ruined with King Robert’s insult, something the Northern Lords did not take kindly to. But before anything else could put a bigger damper on his wedding, Jon cupped Sansa’s cheek, and kissed the corner of her mouth, making it seem like they actually did kiss.

He pulled back to see her blushing once more, but smiling wide.

They were married.


	7. A most tense wedding feast

The feast was a poor excuse of a celebration.

The only people really enjoying themselves were the king and his court. Though if Jon was being honest, only the king seemed to be in a mood for partying.

“How did you manage to get me a wedding cloak?” Sansa asked her husband. And oh! Her _husband!_ Her husband who was _Jon Snow_.

Jon stiffened and offered her a tense smile. He leaned in and barely moved his lips as he muttered, “Can you keep a secret?” At her nod, he admitted, “It was my mother’s maiden cloak.”

Sansa’s mouth silently made an ‘O’ in realization. She tugged the white fur cloak tighter around her in one hand and grabbed his hand in the other. She squeezed it in support, caressing the back of it with her thumb until his shoulders relaxed and he sent her a smile she once thought rare but was quickly becoming common when they were together.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked her.

Sansa gave him a weird look. “There’s no music and no one’s dancing.”

Jon cringed and nodded slowly. “Well, yes. But I was hoping that if I asked nicely, someone would be willing to play us a song.”

Sansa smiled and stood, pulling her husband to his feet. And oh, how she loved calling Jon her husband! She did not think she would ever get tired of calling him her husband.

Luckily, as they stood, some of the northerners near the minstrels the King brought with him stole the instruments and began playing a merry, and _northern_ tune. With a sheepish apology for his less than graceful dancing, Jon made sure to swing his young bride around to the tune, making sure her giggles and smiles were genuine. He barely noticed the northerners who joined them in dancing.

“For someone who doesn’t like to dance, you sure held out,” Sansa giggled as Jon led them back to their seats.

Jon chuckled, his ears turning red. “I never said I didn’t like to dance.”

“I have never seen you dance before,” she countered. When he nodded in agreement, a thought entered her mind. She hesitates before asking, “Did you dance when you were away?”

Silence was her only answer.

“Will you ever tell me what happened?”

Just as she was about to give up on receiving an answer from Jon, he surprised her by taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “Soon,” he promised.

“Lady Sansa.”

The newly weds looked away from each other to see Princess Cassana and her husband Rollo stood on the other side of the table. Jon stiffened up but said nothing, which Sansa was grateful for.

“Let us be the first to offer you two congratulations on your marriage,” the princess smiled.

“Yes,” the gruff voice of her husband said. “Marriage is beautiful and should be celebrated. May the gods grant you a happy and loving life with many healthy sons and daughters.”

Jon couldn’t help himself. “And what gods are those?”

Sansa tensed and squeezed Jon’s hand in warning. “We thank you, Princess Cassana, Lord Rollo,” she demurred, smile tense.

Luckily, Rollo only smirked and looked towards his wife, who smiled kindly and reiterated her congratulations. Then she and her husband turned to leave back to their seats.

But before they were out of hearing distance, Jon stiffly called, “Thank you.”

The princess did not appear to hear Jon, if she did she ignored him. Rollo however, looked back at Jon, bowing his head in respect.

“How do you know him?” Sansa asked.

Jon sighed and reached for his wine goblet. “Soon. I’ll tell you everything soon.”

Sansa only nodded and turned to see that more Lords and Ladies were making their way up to them to congratulate them.

It was a tedious thing in Jon’s opinion, and the Northern guests were just as obvious in their sympathy and pity as the Southern guests in their amusement and false words. Still, he felt a swell of pride at the wya Sansa handled the guests. A polite smile and words of courtesy so polite, the Southerners she insulted only realized it after they left.

Unfortunately, once the parade of blessings and congratulations ended, King Robert disrupted the festivities with a demand for the bedding to begin.

“It’s time for the bedding!” he roared, standing on unsteady feet and slamming his goblet onto the table.

Sansa felt the fear seize her quickly and leave her immobilized. She grasped at Jon but did not bother to do anything to anger the Baratheon monarch more. She watched in disgust as the southerners cheered and quickly advanced towards her and Jon, lust in their eyes. Fortunately, the northerners did not bother moving and instead looked to their liege expectantly. But before Ned Stark could intervene, Jon did.

With precision nobody knew he had, Jon imbedded a steak knife deep into the table, silencing the men and making the women yelp.

“There will be no bedding ceremony,” he stated, voice steady and commanding.

King Robert quickly roused with rage. “Now listen here you bastard—”

“Robert,” Ned Stark quickly interrupted, purposely not calling the man his king in from of his lords, something the Lannister Queen noticed and bristled in anger at. “The North does not practice such a ceremony and they’re barely more than children. I will not let you put them through such a barbaric practice.”

“How dare you speak to your king in such a way?” Cersei hissed, looking down at everybody from her nose.

While Sansa was caught up in the drama, Jon merely drained the remainder of his ale and stood up, pulling Sansa to his side. He ignored everyone and simply led Sansa out of the hall, his head held high.

“I haven’t given you leave to—” the king boomed at them.

“No one is touching my wife!” Jon roared, cutting the man off without bothering to turn around. He led Sansa out of the hall, leaving behind proud northmen, indignant southrons, and a positively raging royal couple and Crown Prince.

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦

Sansa was nervous. Any maiden would when they were on their way to the marriage bed. But she was also excited, though she did not know for what.

“Finally,” Jon sighed, barricading the door to Sansa’s chamber, _their_ chamber now, and relaxing. “Peace.”

Sansa giggled at his words. She headed to the wine decanter that her chamber maids had surely placed after she left for the godswood earlier that night, and poured herself what was surely a generous amount of wine. She had never really had more than a cup of watered down wine on special occasions.

She surely had never felt such a bitter and burning sensation when she drank the watered down wine before. Right away, she felt warm all over and a dizzy spell takeover.

“Hey,” Jon murmured, holding her steady and taking the cup out of her hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking that.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just nervous.”

Jon gently sat her down on one of the chairs in front of the fireplace before taking the other seat.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jon told her. One look at her face, he interrupted before she could open her mouth. “I don’t care what that stupid oaf wants. What happens in a man and woman’s bed is between them two only. Besides, we can always fake the bedding.”

“How?”

Jon only smirked. However, just as he was about to explain to Sansa what he meant, the wall next to the fireplace opened to reveal a secret passage. Acting on impulse, Jon pulled Sansa up, grabbing the fireplace poker and holding it like a sword.

Sansa was immediately thrown off guard by the man who walked through. His Stark grey eyes shined with mischief that she constantly saw in Arya, lips drawn into a grin. His dark hair was pulled back into a knot, showing off his sharp features, on the same long face most Starks possessed. She was so caught off guard by the man’s looks that she barely noticed the scantily clad, blindfolded redhead he was holding.

As soon as Jon and the man made eye contact, Jon dropped the poker and sagged in relief.

“Erik,” Jon exhaled. A disbelieving laugh escaped him before he launched himself into the older man’s arms.

 _“Little brother,”_ Erik grinned , pulling away to look at Jon. He frowned when he saw the fading bruising on his face. _“Just what sort of trouble have you been getting into?”_

Jon’s smile lacked the happiness it had when he first smiled at the man. _“The trouble that comes with existing.”_

Erik’s face immediately hardened.

“Jon?”

Both men turned to the confused and scared young bride.

“Sansa,” Jon started, grabbing her hand.

 _“No time for that right now,”_ Erik interrupted, pushing them towards the passage he and the woman came from. _“Follow the passage all the way down. It will lead you to the woods where Bjorn and Gunnar are waiting to take you to our camp. I will take care of things here.”_

While Sansa was confused, she knew she could trust Jon, so she followed when he tugged her along into the passage, despite the fear creeping in on her. But before they disappeared down the passage she did not even know existed until a few moments ago, Jon hugged the man she still did not know.

She had trouble keeping up with her new husband’s quick pace. But she did not have trouble questioning him on what was going on.

“It looks like soon is fast approaching Sansa. I promised I would tell you what you wanted to know, but it’s not pretty.”

✦ **—** ✦ **—** ✧ **—** ✦ **—** ✦ ****

Despite the attempts of the minstrel to liven up the feast after the couple had left, the Northerners remained alert, actively sobering up instead of drinking away and acting like nothing had happened, unlike the king and his court.

Luckily, the tense atmosphere did not last long before an unexpected guest waltzed into the hall like he was both the King and Lord of the castle.

“Tywin!” Robert boomed, stopping from consuming more wine and his groping of the women around him. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you at war?”

It was obvious to everyone in the room that the Old Lion was enraged, it only being proved when he just barely managed to greet the king and ignored the man’s question. But, he quickly turned to the Princess’s husband, Rollo and demanded his presence in a private chamber.

Despite being the Lord of the castle, Ned was more than infuriated with Robert and his court’s behavior. So he did not bother doing what any good lord would do for their king and instead sat back, a cold and stony look on his face, acknowledging only those of the North.

Not bothering to hide his fury anymore, Tywin ignored Ned Stark for the time being and grabbed Rollo by the neck, pinning him to the closest wall. He was so angry, he lost his famous composure.

“You were supposed to help us defeat your brother!” he hissed. “But he figured it out and now some _girl_ is calling the shots. So what haven’t you told me?”

Rollo glared and easily pushed the older man off him. “I told you everything you needed to know to defeat him. I warned you he was quick of mind. And that girl is no simple nobody. She is a woman chosen by the gods. Powerful and dangerous.” At the scoffs he received, Rollo scowled. “You want my help yet you refuse to listen! But it’s no matter because I cannot tell you how she will proceed. I know not how her mind works. But there is someone here who might.”

“Who?” Tywin bit out through clenched teeth, thoroughly frustrated with the entire situation.

Rollo hesitated, glancing at the Starks once before muttering, “Jon Snow.”

With a simple look, Lannister guards were storming out of the hall, much to the dismay of the Northerners.

“What are you doing?” Ned demanded, jumping to his feet, hand on the steak knife on the table in front of him. “Stop! You cannot—”

“I can and I will,” Tywin interrupted, glaring. “This is in name of the kingdom’s safety, therefore it is well in the king’s jurisdiction to do whatever is necessary to ensure the realm’s protection.”

“But you are not the king,” Ned cooly responded.

At that moment, the guards came back with the newlywed couple, only it wasn’t them.

Instead, it was a naked redhead that some of the men who resided in Winterfell and Winter’s Town and a shirtless familiar face to those who were alive and knew the Starks before Robert’s Rebellion.

“Brandon?”

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first work on here and i'm almost positive it's not gonna be great but we've all got to start somewhere
> 
> have a little patience with me and feel free to comment your thoughts and opinions


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